


mask of beauty

by worry



Series: little bits of stardust [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, Morning Routines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: It’s an infestation. It never quite goes away; sometimes he can shower without thinking of him, sometimes he can get dressed without thinking will Simon ruin this, sometimes he can eat without thinking about Simon crawling out of his grave. Sometimes. Sometimes. But: when he does, he feels empty.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: 138. mask of beauty

(“Not good enough,” he says to his reflection in the mirror.)

 

Every morning, to Raphael, is the same; he wakes up and watches himself move in the mirror on his dresser, thinks about a world in which he doesn’t have to watch himself like this. A world where vampires don’t see their reflections and he doesn’t have to watch _this_ thing move and hurt, this thing as his vessel and his body. This body as something pulled out of light. Disgusting.

 

And every morning he undresses, every morning he spends an hour in front of the same mirror trying on clothing. He has to look _just right_ every day, or it will all crumble, leaving him vulnerable. Vulnerability is inexcusable. He wears his jackets like armor. He imagines himself with armor. He imagines himself unwounded.

 

He gels his hair back, tame. Again: vulnerability, or something like it. If he shows one imperfection, then he will _fall._ Right out of this holy appearance that he has made for himself. Raphael Santiago is untouchable. He’s _untouchable._

Except: Simon.

 

Not when it comes to Simon.

 

His morning routine has changed, slightly, since Simon came into his life. Just enough to make him uneasy. Every morning when he showered, he imagined washing off everything that makes him unholy and _bad_ and replacing it with a second skin, a suit of armor, something _strong._ That was Before Simon, before _this_ happened. Now: in the shower, he imagines _Simon._

And in every other part of every day, he imagines _Simon._

 

It’s an infestation. It never quite goes away; sometimes he can shower without thinking of him, sometimes he can get dressed without thinking _will Simon ruin this,_ sometimes he can eat without thinking about Simon crawling out of his grave. Sometimes. _Sometimes._

 

But: when he does, he feels empty.

 

Every morning, he wakes up hungry and empty and hungry-and-empty, the middle of it all eating at him. Every morning, he watches the sick paleness of his skin in the mirror and thinks _this is what I’ve become, this is what I am,_ and then: he thinks about Simon.

 

Every morning, he walks to Simon’s room and lingers outside of his door. He never walks in, because Simon has to want him there. Simon has to be okay with it. Simon has to look at Raphael and see something like: hope, family. Every morning, at Simon’s door, he imagines Simon coming out of his room—

 

Every morning, at Simon’s door, he imagines Simon whispering: _I love you._

 

(“Not good enough,” he repeats to his reflection, when he walks back to his room and his safety and his armor. “Try again.")

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you think :0


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